


The pros and cons of breathing

by virtualwraith



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, aka everyone else is a jerk except hanzo, as always just imagine him as chubby mccree, hanzo has prosthetic legs and i will ride or die with them, he's gonna need some comfort, jesse has some self esteem issues, smut in second chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-17 14:13:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8147089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virtualwraith/pseuds/virtualwraith
Summary: Misery loves company, but the only person on Jesse's guest list is Hanzo.





	1. The lonely moments just get lonelier

Inhale. Exhale. Tumble and fan the hammer. Pray to the forces above that there’s no more of them. The mission log had assured Jesse that it was just a simple payload escort mission, but everything had gone south barely one hour in. No reconnaissance had been able to get done, lest they -- according to Winston’s voice over the communicator -- be found out and quickly disposed of before they got their feet wet. Jesse had known what he was getting into. The hour passed, and then he realized he he actually didn’t know at all.

Talon agents swarmed them, encroaching from every angle. It had been relatively hard to discern what had tipped them off or how they had found out the team was there, as last anyone knew Talon had yet to be spotted in Dubrovnik or the surrounding area. One, three, six shots Jesse took, nailing each and every agent dead center between the eyes. He had breathed in, focused, hit Peacekeeper harder than he ever had before. It had been enough for them. Their bodies crumpled to the cobblestone, and Jesse knew he should not have, but his ego swelled. It was swollen and he was cocky, and the cigarillo ached in his mouth to be lit and puffed and enjoyed. The coastal sea breeze combined with the whimsical salt in the air begged him to celebrate, told him that things had gone into the shitter but he climbed out. 

Except he didn’t.

Explosions are hardly calculated, hardly predicted. The building behind the team violently cascaded its drywall and concrete down on them akin to a burst of rain, with Jesse caught in the downpour. His legs became pinned, a surge of blood dowsing his face from a nasty cut above his right eyebrow. The cigarillo became lost amidst the debris; Jesse yowled in pain, mouth now free. Try as he might, his legs refused to cooperate, and the sliver of white that peeked through his chaps made him nauseated. The glint of a gun near his head doubled his queasiness. His eyes suffered and stung with the blood trying to make its home under his eyelids, and blearily he could see several shapes amassing in front of him. Jesse laughed dryly as the barrel of a gun kissed his temple, the cold metal greeting him like a familiar friend. He had prayed; seems it hadn’t worked. The gods were laughing down upon him. Bastards.

“Go ahead. I’m all but dead anyway. But make sure to bury me upside down, so ya’ll can kiss my ass before I go under.”

He thought he heard the click of the safety being turned off the gun, but the screaming of a certain Japanese man made Jesse realize it had been instinctual, pure nostalgia for his days with the Deadlocks. A blinding burst of blue light enveloped his get together, with the screams of his party goers ringing in Jesse’s ears. Engulfing the assailants, the dragons blazed a path of destruction, keeping Jesse safe in the confines of the rubble while they swallowed everything whole. The luminescence was comforting, warm and inviting, reminding Jesse of the harsh, unforgiving sun on Route 66 that burned holes into unprotected skin and left no kind parting gifts. It was gone as quickly as it came, and all Jesse remembered before passing out the soft pitter patter of feet and a desperate cry of his last name was a plea to stay with ‘them’. 

\-------

 

The steady pulse of Jesse’s heart beat on the monitor finally pushed Jesse awake, his eyes blearily capturing the most of his surroundings. He still felt rather woozy, and it took him another twenty minutes to fully awaken; a slight panic finally aroused him fully, making the monitor beep faster when he realized he couldn’t see out of one eye. His organic arm pawed at his face which allowed him to relax at the touch of a mere bandage. Angela -- who had been replacing 4 x 4 gauze into a clear container -- rapidly placed her gauze bag down on the metal tray beside the bed to rush over to Jesse, grabbing his arm for a quick pulse.

“Fancy seeing you up. I thought it would take you much longer to regain consciousness from the anesthetic, but I guess I’m allowed to be proven wrong every now and then.” Her voice was relatively cheery, Jesse thought, for someone who was handling a sick patient. He face screwed up in a scowl.

“What happened, doc?” Angela paid him no mind and quickly adjusted his IV line, making sure there were no air bubbles. When she was satisfied, she gave him a sympathetic look that made Jesse feel as though she was only doing so out of professionalism.

“Mission went awry, you were pinned under some rubble. Compound fracture to right femur, comminuted fractures to both left and right tibia, posterior bruising, strain of--”

Jesse groused. “For god’s sake Ange', English. I ain’t no doctor.”

Angela pursed her lips. “Your legs are broken and you’ll be here for a long time. Also suspected spine strain which exacerbates everything. You’re lucky to be alive, Jesse. Whatever hit you in your head could have snapped your neck instead.”

Jesse sighed deeply. While he struggled to sit up Angela plowed on through, grabbing a clipboard from the edge of the bed. “Furthermore, since I had to do some bloodwork, I should go over your results that I find most appaling. Your cholesterol is 209, which is borderline, your triglycerides are 198, which is abysmal and I suspect from all your alcohol consumption. Not to mention I was concerned while you were in surgery, your blood pressure spikes often.” Angela peered up over her clipboard to see Jesse scratching at his nose idly, eyes focused elsewhere.

“You do realize that you are allowed to take this seriously.”

“Won’t really much matter if I did, seeing as though I can’t do anything about it stuck in this fuckin’ bed.”

“You could also watch your language.”

“Yeah, I guess I could,” he said curtly, sniffing with indifference. Angela clucked her tongue, putting the chart back in its holder. For a while they didn’t speak to each other, with Jesse chewing on his lip, his gaze trained on the window, wishing the blinds were open so he could at least see the cliffside. The soft _whoosh_ of the sliding doors of the bed bay opening heralded a visitor, one of which gave Jesse’s eyebrows a raise. It was Hanzo, clad in _casual_ wear of all things, which comprised of a tight grey t shirt and dark pants. Jesse’s eyes flicked to the floor, seeing that he still had his claws boots on. Odd.

“Oh! I did not expect you. How are you feeling?” Angela rounded the corner, holding a box of powdered gloves. Hanzo shrugged noncommittally and she gave him a wane smile in return.  


“I’ll just -- I’ll be in my office,” she said to no one in particular, stepping out of their range of view. 

The silence between Jesse and Hanzo was heavy, with Jesse fingering the scratchy blanket that covered his abdomen. He hadn’t given himself the time to look over his legs, which were propped up and in tight casts, no signatures (which he didn’t understand why he cared). The abrupt thought of not walking made him ill. Hanzo tentatively stepped forward, hands crossed on his chest; he situated himself on a visitor’s chair and gave Jesse a pained expression, as if he was thinking of what to say. 

Jesse beat him to the punch. “Why are you here?”

“I figured I would visit you, see how you were doing,” he answered, sitting up straight in the chair. “You are lucky to be alive. If I had not been there with my drag--”

“You didn’t need to. I had accepted death.” 

Hanzo blinked slowly, cocking his head to the side, eyeing Jesse with interest. “Are you implying you did not need my help, or want it, or rather -- I assume both?”

Jesse’s metal arm ran a hand through his hair, silently cursing the lack of his hat. It was a security blanket more often than not. He barked out a laugh. “Sorry. I ain’t used to people watchin’ my back. I’ve been on my own for a while.”

Hanzo’s brow furrowed, his eyes searching across Jesse’s bed spread. “You have been part of this organization for half a year. Sufficient enough to garner some trust, I would figure.”

“Ah, I’ve been ‘part of Overwatch before. But that’s a long story, best suited for never.” How he craved a smoke, to feel the smoke caress his lungs and give him that full feel instead of the empty one he currently held. Why was this awkward? It felt awkward. Jesse huffed and batted the hospital blanket. “So, since I just woke up and all, lemme ask ya: how many others have visited? If you know.”

It was obvious from Hanzo’s expression that he suddenly felt very uncomfortable, placing a hand to smooth out his facial hair. “To my knowledge, just me when I helped doctor Ziegler and… just me now.” Jesse leaned back against his pillows, wishing he could be swallowed by them. Only Hanzo had seen him. “Oh,” was all Jesse said, trying not to look at the other man for the time being. Again, he was caught with feelings of uncertainty and questions of why Hanzo cared. It wasn’t like Blackwatch, where he had been under the direct care of Gabriel Reyes, who was obligated -- and interested in other ways -- of checking up on him when he had been injured. The other agents had things to do. Mission reports to fill out. Jesse didn’t want to feel bitter, but it seemed a possibility.

“Well,” Jesse started, now returning his attention back at Hanzo, “thank ya kindly.”

“You’re welcome, McCree. You are no bother to me.” 

For the others, Jesse wondered, he probably was.

\-------

The days turned into weeks, with Jesse feeling considerably more and more cumbersome staying in the bed. He frequently asked the doctor why he had to be cooped up all day, why he couldn’t just get crutches and hobble around the base like -- in his words -- a gimp. Angela merely sighed and explained time after time with all the patience she could muster, clipping her tone further and further with every instance. After the day ticked into the first month, Jesse stopped asking, stopped caring. Not like anyone else really seemed to, for that matter.

She explained they were busy, that they sent their regards, but Jesse didn’t buy it for a hot second. Not with Hanzo coming in every day in the evening, finding time to do so, ascertaining about how he was doing, sometimes shepherding gifts or outside food with Angela’s permission. Some of it was vile, like an herbal tea mixture Hanzo had told him was called _Kakkonto_ which made Jesse feel like his mouth was slurping on dirt. The rice porridge was decent enough, giving Jesse a homely vibe he couldn’t describe. In either case, he appreciated Hanzo doing what he could. It was better than what the others had been doing, which was a resounding nothing. Hanzo even shared stories of the outside, filling him in on what he was missing. He didn’t particularly care much about anything other than what Hanzo did, which was training, meditating, going on missions. Hanzo could tell him he was staring at paint dry and Jesse knew he’d drink it up.

One particular evening Jesse had asked Hanzo to bring some playing cards, but the man brought Sudoku instead, telling him it was better to train his mind in a productive manner. Jesse whined and for the first time, Hanzo laughed. It was a deep throated chortle that had sent blood right to Jesse’s face, and unabashedly, right to his crotch.

“Didn’t know you could laugh,” Jesse said with his own, and Hanzo cleared his throat, rolling his eyes with a smirk, settling back down in the chair with his Sudoku book. He pulled his knees into a criss cross pattern, again wearing the boots Jesse was accustomed with seeing. When he had inquired about them, Hanzo had simply stated he needed them with a tone finality that made Jesse not want to pry further, even though he was curious enough to want to.

“I am not a robot. I’m capable of finding some things humorous.”

“True. You brought me that nasty ass tea. Those kinds of jokes can kill a man, ya know.”

They shared another round of laughs, the sound swelling Jesse’s chest with warmth. While Hanzo prattled on about his game, Jesse just stared. He couldn’t fathom why the man was taking a portion of his day to spend with him, not when he had no obligation to do so. It was a feeling that nagged him in the back of his mind, and sort of slipped out onto his tongue when Hanzo finished his riveting tale about the wonders of Sudoku.

“Why do you still come?” 

The pencil on Hanzo’s pad of paper stopped, poised over an empty box. He peered at Jesse through his thick lashes. Jesse idly wondered if he wore any makeup, as his eyes were sharp and alluring. The kind that were begging to be lost in.

“You are interesting.” Hanzo shrugged his shoulders, getting up from his chair and sitting down on the bed next to Jesse. Jesse could feel Hanzo’s radiating body temperature, he was that close. “Plus, I would not want to leave you by yourself. Doctor Ziegler has told me that it has been rough for you.”

“Yeah,” Jesse replied bluntly, working his jaw for a few seconds and clenching it soon after. When Hanzo wasn’t here, his life felt like a deflated balloon. Hanzo entering the room inflated him, figuratively and literally. He hadn’t felt the contact of another human being in ages, and he relished the times Hanzo placed a hand on his shoulder or helped move his blanket. When Jesse had the bandage and stitching removed from his forehead, Hanzo had touched the small scar, noting how it suited him. It had been the happiest he had felt in a while.

“You don’t have to. If you need to do something, then you don’t need to cancel it ‘cause of me.”

Hanzo snorted. “And do what? Be hounded by my brother every waking minute? Or asked insensitive questions by the others? I think not. I either practice or meditate, mostly. This is basically a breather for me.”

Genji had been a topic Jesse steered clear from. Once a loyal friend from his olden days, Jesse had barely been able to process that Hanzo tried to kill him, and _that_ had been the reason Genji appeared in a cyborg suit. Jesse had always assumed it was because the man wanted to appear cool or something. If Genji had told him about why he had ended up that way in the past, Jesse had to have blanked it out, for he couldn’t remember ever being told.

“Guess not. I appreciate ya comin’ in regardless. Makes me look forward to somethin’ else other than being prodded with needles like cattle.”

A quiet chuckle came from Hanzo, who had been giving the outside world a longing stare through the window. Jesse had not too subtly begged Angela to keep it open, to look at the far off cliff side, with the boats appearing like little dots on the horizon. A place Jesse wanted to be, sucking on a cigar, maybe meditating with Hanzo, though not really since he wouldn’t know what to do with himself but ogle at the other man. Anything sounded better than being cooped up in a sterile room all day smelling antiseptic and avoiding Angela’s strained facial expressions.

“Did the doctor say when you would be released, Jesse?” At the sound of his name, Jesse turned back to Hanzo, who now was looking straight at him. He had never noticed how deep Hanzo’s eyes were, how angled his jaw was, how perfectly trimmed his facial hair was. How everything melded together like a work of art, and Jesse was just an entranced surveyor in the museum of Shimada.

“Uh -- can’t remember the exact date. It’s been a month in here now, she said maybe another two weeks or so. Told me she doesn’t trust me puttin’ pressure on the legs, which is why I’ve been stuck here in the first place.”

“Well, do not dwell on it. Think of now, not the past, and not the future. You’ll tire yourself out.” At the mention of exhaustion, Hanzo glimpsed at the overhead clock softly ticking away. It was nearing ten, the time he usually left. Jesse groaned, grabbing at Hanzo’s hand, which made the man in question flick his eyes back and forth between Jesse’s arm and face. Jesse swiped his calloused thumb over a vein languidly.

“Ah, c’mon darlin’. Don’t go.”

Hanzo had gotten used to Jesse calling him that. He sighed lightly, eyes hooded. “I am fatigued. But I will return tomorrow.”

As Hanzo tried to slip his fingers away, Jesse used the opportunity to reel them in and press a kiss onto the outer portion of the hand before letting go. Hanzo did not recoil, but merely sat up in response, grabbing his Sudoku book and bowing to Jesse for a pleasant night. Jesse nodded solemnly, a hand scratching at his unkempt scruff. 

“Keep yourself safe tonight.”

“I am the one who saved you, if you can recall. I can handle myself,” Hanzo said with a small smirk, an amused look etched across his face. 

He slipped out of the room quietly, leaving Jesse to smolder in his own feelings, his cock pressed against his stomach, not too subtly reminding him how hard and engorged Hanzo made him; he was thankful Hanzo had not noticed underneath the blanket. He had masturbated before, usually to the thought of Hanzo sprawled underneath him, hole leaking cum against his beautiful thighs, but it felt wrong. Dirty, even. Hanzo was just being friendly, and here Jesse was, being a fool, imagining lewd thoughts of the man who had shown him nothing but thoughtfulness and good will. Regret often showed its ugly face, but when Jesse managed to get himself off in times like these, the feeling ebbed away.

“You can handle yourself,” Jesse muttered, his eyes locked on the now closed med bay door, “but god damn, darlin’, I don’t know if I can handle you.”


	2. The longer you're in love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse knew, for what it was worth, that he didn't expect this outcome to happen.

“Well, I must say you’ve definitely improved your walk cycle since the last time.”

“Wonderful.”

“I think you’re ready to leave. I have a pair of crutches you can take with you, of course. I’ll let Winston know you’re on temporary leave until your therapy sessions are over.”

“Perfect.”

“Is something the matter, Jesse?”

Angela’s body read as tense as she handed him her promised crutches, watching the man place his arms over the rests to hoist himself over to the other side of the bed where his hat lay waiting for him. Jesse didn’t respond right away, concentration focused in his brow line as he got used to walking with two foreign metal attachments. He felt as though there was nothing to say, really, as any half wit would understand why he was still so frustrated, so callous. 

From the corner of his eye he saw Angela falter, fingers now curled around his serape. It had been a long time since he had felt the familiar warm wool of his clothing. He was clad now in a rumpled white shirt and cargo shorts, as pants couldn’t fit below his casts; the shorts were definitely digging into his sides. It seemed the hospital had fucked him in another way: it didn’t even let him lose much weight. Jesse finally let a sigh escape him, snatching up his hat and placing it atop his head, determined to get a move on leaving the hospital. It was akin to terminating a bad relationship: he wanted to do it fast.

“Naw. I’m fine. I just want to get the hell outta here, no offense.” 

He hobbled over to Angela, reaching out for his serape, which she obliged him with. It felt fuzzy, as if she washed it, but he didn’t have time to bark at her for it. She had enough on her plate already, she didn’t need him acting like a curmudgeon fool. She nodded wordlessly at his plight, stepping back as he independently walked forward, the heavy casts _thumping_ every which way. It had been almost two months since he had come into the hospital, and Angela had relayed that his spinal strain had healed perfectly, and that everything else was up to muscular therapy and bone healing. How fun.

“Just be careful to not overwork yourself. Should you need me, I’ll be here,” she said brusquely, turning her attention to his unkempt bed, pulling the sheets from it in rapid fire succession.

Jesse snorted as the bay doors opened for him. “Hopefully I won’t,” he muttered under his breath, allowing the free world to swallow him with the closing of the doors behind.

It was a little past one in the afternoon, as told to him by a clock that was hung right outside the entrance to the med bay. The entire hallway still smelled of the familiar antiseptic he had grown accustomed to; it was a smell that made him feel nauseated, and Jesse felt it was time to take his leave. The crutches made the undersides of his arms burn with every step, feeling as though they wanted to pop his shoulders of out place. His pride shouted against them, reeling that he even needed to use the devices in the first place. The only soothing note was that without them, he wouldn’t even be out of the hospital, out of Angela’s hair. 

_Thank god._ Jesse didn’t fancy himself a religious man, but he wished that his spare rosary beads had been with him in the hospital, so he could’ve at least prayed to never end up there again under the abhorrent stare of Angela Zielger. He would’ve given anything to smell the hint of roses pressed against his nose, to inhale his prayer, and whisper to never allow himself to get hurt that badly, should he be reminded that Angela once tried to ease his suffering by offering up a movie night with just him and her, and said movie was an untranslated German film that had awkward sex in it. 

_Amen._

Cacophonous laughter carried through the hall that led right to the dining area, and Jesse’s face started to feel hot with aggravation. His imagination was unfettered with what he wanted to say to his fellow agents when he caught them next. The reactions he’d probably get would be so predictable that Jesse wasn’t even sure he wanted to spend the energy on doing so. With each step toward the kitchen, his mouth grit his teeth harder and harder, imagining Lena’s mouth hanging open in surprise, Reinhardt’s furrowed brow, Winston’s...fuck, did he really have to imagine a _gorilla_ making facial expressions right now? Was that his sad life?

The double doors gave way to Jesse’s broken appearance, signaling his arrival to the members gathered at the table and kitchen island. The base really was a home away from home, with the counter lined with different cultural machines -- coffee pots, rice cookers, tea kettles. Currently, Reinhardt was servicing one of the coffee machines, with Lena and Genji talking amicably with each other around the island, a cup of tea held tightly in Lena’s hands. The kitchen table did not hold any familiar simians, but instead had Mei and Hana chatting with exuberance, and to their right was none other than Hanzo. Jesse felt another twinge of anger as he noticed Hanzo had been the first to look up at him, giving him a nod of a greeting, where it took several seconds for the others to start to acknowledge him.

A silence cast itself upon the group, to which Lena open mouthed smiled and gestured to Jesse with a wave of her hand. “Hello, love! Fancy seeing you out so early.”

Jesse clucked his tongue, limping over to where Hanzo was. The man was absorbed in another Sudoku puzzle and had a cup of matcha poised directly to his left. It seems lunch had just concluded. “Yeah. ‘Course, hospitals don’t travel. I was stuck in one place the entire time.”

Lena bit on her lip in uneasiness. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Jesse looked positively vexed. “You could’ve seen me earlier. You would’ve known I was gettin’ out today.” 

There became the start of the tension building up. Hana scoffed behind him, flipping her hair from her shoulder, her eyes resting on his crutches.

“Well, she was right I guess.”

Jesse rounded on her. “Pardon?”

“The doctor did say you’d be pretty upset that no one came to visit you.” Hana tapped her fingers against the wooden table, while Mei looked right embarrassed. “You can’t be seriously _mad_. We’re all super busy, y’know. Winston’s been scattering us in all different areas of the globe.”

Jesse’s eyes narrowed in response. Lena picked up behind Hana with an exclamation of _she is right, love_ , but all Jesse could hear is _Fuck you Jesse. Fuck you, fuck you._

“That ain’t an excuse. I thought we were all teammates. Partners. I would’ve visit ya’ll if somethin’ happened. Even if you were comatose. Thought that would extend to myself. Guess I was wrong.”

Hana huffed again, pushing up against the table and grabbing her crumb ridden plate. Jesse noted it was the first time he had even seen her without her MEKA suit on. She was clad in pink cut off shorts and a white v neck shirt. The whole outfit screamed ‘popular girl’, which coincided with how she was acting.

“Don’t put that on us, McCree. Like I said, we were all busy.”

She flounced past him, going up to Reinhardt, who stood rigid and awkward next to the sink. Jesse leaned forward on his crutches and snarled in indignation, throwing his serape onto his shoulder. He didn’t want to start throwing it around lest he got too vocal.

“That ain’t an excuse,” he repeated.

“Well, it’s mine, and it’s probably everyone else’s.”

“We’re a team. Thought ya’ll cared about me.”

“Dude, I don’t _know you_ that well, ok?” Hana’s wide eyes were now on him, and the silence was louder than before. Jesse remembered back to one of the nights Hanzo visited him, the words of the past ringing in his head: _You have been part of this organization for half a year. Sufficient enough to garner some trust, I would figure._ Jesse remembered that the line had been relatively contrived in his opinion; it had only brought up the mistrust of his Blackwatch days, something he was rather vinegary about. Now he was staring someone in the face that crumbled Hanzo’s argument, and Jesse fought back a scream of insults he didn’t want to lash onto a younger girl.

It seemed that Genji caught onto the sour mood that befell everyone, and he instantly sprang up, gathering Lena’s lunch accessories and moving them to the sink as well. Jesse’s eyes wildly sprang from person to person, amazed that no one came to his defense. Especially Genji, who had hunched his shoulders and was the first one out the the room entirely. They all accepted what Hana was saying, which meant that his fears were right: no one cared for him. The sense of camaraderie he felt back in the old days was just not present. The excuse of being busy was one everyone took to heart. Jesse knew deep down they all probably thought one another was visiting him; with such assuming, he was now staring at a room full of asses now.

“No, that is a poor excuse, Ms. Song.” A soothing voice rushed in to calm Jesse’s flared senses. Hanzo interjected behind him, now standing up, his grip harsh on his puzzle. The others turned their gazes toward Hanzo, and Hana floundered.

“I-- look, I’m just being honest. The guy’s been gone for two months.”

“That does not mean he didn’t deserve support. Support, it seems, only I was giving.” Hanzo stepped forward, and yet again Jesse saw that he was wearing the same clawed boots from before, peaking out from underneath the yet again unusual combination of sweatpants and dark form fitting shirt. Jesse guessed he couldn’t be forced to wear his regular attire all the time.

“Winston’s been up our asses about the U.N and trying to get us into shape!” Hana snapped back, the others now filing out of the room. It seemed they didn’t share Hana’s vocal sentiment, but their complacency told Jesse everything he needed to know. They were guilty.

“You should be ashamed in yourself. Jesse has saved you countless times on the field, and this is how you repay him.” Hanzo’s voice was surprisingly cold, and Jesse had to hold back his astonishment. He was a grown man -- he didn’t need Hanzo to stick up for him. Yet there was no rush to necessarily stop the assassin either. Hana simply brushed off Hanzo’s remark and stomped out of the kitchen, the metal doors meeting together to shut everyone else out. 

Jesse swallowed the lump in his throat before giving Hanzo a sideways glance. The archer was poised high, jawline stiff with umbrage, a dark shadow cast around his eyes. When he turned to meet Jesse’s small glimpse, his facial features softened, sucking air through his teeth as he made a pass over Jesse’s legs. Hanzo threw his puzzle down onto the table and placed a supportive hand on the small of Jesse’s back to make sure he had leverage.

“Thanks,” Jesse said softly, to which he received a shrug from Hanzo as the duo exited the kitchen. Food didn’t entice Jesse at this time.

“What I said was true. There was no reason she could not spare you one minute of her time to at least see that you were not dead. The lot of them, actually, could have followed suit.” 

“Didn’t expect you to get so personally angry about it.”

He could feel Hanzo’s hand curling around the tail end of his back, the tops of his knuckles brushing against the dangling serape. “The entire situation shows that this organization is long from a community. And my comment I made a few weeks ago -- how I’d rather be with you then hear their unceasing poking into my life -- only proves how selfish they are.”

Jesse groaned. “They’re not selfish, they just got other priorities. And it’s clear I ain’t one of them, s’all.”

The hallway tapered off at the end, denoting that he and Hanzo had arrived to Jesse’s dorm. How Hanzo knew where his room was momentarily flashed in Jesse’s head, but he didn’t question it. The Spartan room felt cold and unlived in, with the same sheets still clinging to the mattress from the day he left for the mission in Dubrovnik. Jesse staggered forward, dropping his crutches to the floor as he bounced onto his bed, a long winded sigh exiting his lips. The mattress still felt as old and bumpy as the day he left it, which provided Jesse with comfort he didn’t know he needed. It was brazenly different from the harsh stiffness of the medical bed, and his thoughts yet again drifted to being holed up there for two months. Two months without any sort of contact with the outside world, sans Hanzo. Jesse had always been a drifter, was used to it, but knowing that people were there, uninterested enough to see him, it was enough to make his heart pound.

“Thanks,” he said yet again, his eyes now lingering over Hanzo’s body. The man in question sat at the edge of the bed, his hands massaging his thighs in a slow and deep manner. Jesse’s brow furrowed.

“Why do you wear those boots all the damn time?” Hanzo looked up at him, brow furrowed, but Jesse continued. “I mean, you wear regular civilian clothes, yet you want to wear the boots you wear out on missions? Seems weird to me.”

Hanzo sat there, staring ahead, not looking anywhere in particular as he rolled his sweatpants up, revealing that the boots hit right to his knees, a myriad of scars and scorched skin dancing on his thighs. The tail end of another tattoo snaked its way on his left thigh, the beautiful dancing dragon and lightning motif making a fine home on the olive skin. Jesse struggled to sit up to have a closer inspection, his eyes scanning over the muscled expanse. It wasn’t hard to piece everything together, and by the time Hanzo let the fabric of his pants free, Jesse was halfway through biting his lower lip clean off in disquiet. They weren’t boots, but modern mechanical prosthetics, and Jesse kicked himself for thinking otherwise. Interlocked at the base of his knees, they weren’t at the mercy of Hanzo wanting to freely take them off anytime he wanted to. Hanzo knew all too well, then, how it felt to not be able to run, dance, walk, just like Jesse had felt cooped up in the med bay. 

“I wear them all the time because I have to.”

“Cripes, Hanzo, I didn’t mean to -- look, this is mighty personal and shit--”

“Do not feel bad. I showed them to you because I have empathy for your situation.”

Jesse smirked at that, laying back down and knocking his hat off to feel the coolness of the pillow in his hair. “You weren’t so empathetic about the others not seein’ me. You were a fine bitch.”

Hanzo chortled. “I _am_ a bitch.” The male angled himself to lean over Jesse, to which Jesse’s face flushed in confusion.

“Hanzo?”

“Hm?”

“What are you--” He was silenced by Hanzo’s hand coming up to press itself against his cheek, rubbing against the unkempt scruff he hadn’t been able to trim. Hanzo’s face scrunched up in thought, his eyes locked off to the side.

“You were...I won’t lie, when I visited you, it became more of an excuse to unwind from life.”

“Excuse me?”

Hanzo was now pressing his body flush against Jesse’s side, to which Jesse wished he could roll over and meet him halfway. The casts were doing their job by hunkering him down to his back, a feat he wanted to curse at.  


“There was” -- Hanzo shifted uncomfortably -- “more to me visiting you than just keeping you company. I do not jest or pull people around in silly games, Jesse.” The comment sounded as if Hanzo said it more as a reaffirmation to himself than to Jesse. Jesse’s shorts became considerably tighter as blood rushed to his now interested cock. 

“Ah, yeah?”

“Yes,” Hanzo replied quietly, his hand now pulling Jesse down into their first kiss, the angle at which they were doing it awkward, but Jesse didn’t care, didn’t mind. The bottom of his lip was pried open and they soon danced in the searing heat of exchange. Jesse couldn’t help one of his hands move back and grip Hanzo’s behind like a vice, the muscle feeling tone beneath the threadbare material of the man’s sweatpants. It was if they were made specifically for him, for showing off his ass, which wouldn’t surprise Jesse in the slightest, given with how haughty Hanzo had been when Jesse had called his food or drink cheap. _They aren’t cheap_ he had said in a flurry of displeasure.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ…” Jesse was winded from just kissing Hanzo, his shorts now especially too uncomfortable to deal with anymore. “Here I thought no one gave a shit ‘bout me.”

“I must admit, when I first joined Overwatch, I cared little for anyone besides my brother.” Hanzo sat up on his knees, reaching behind him to pull off his shirt in one swoop. Jesse paused, staring at Hanzo’s body like a Greek statue before hurriedly mimicking the action. The stark contrast of their bodies made Jesse want to laugh -- Hanzo was toned, relatively hairless save for the trail starting at his lower abdomen. Jesse’s body, meanwhile, was inhabited with B’s -- bulky, bulging, bushy. 

“So, my southern charm just won you over?” Jesse flashed Hanzo a grin. Hanzo frowned in a serious manner.

“You talked to me like I was my own entity. As if I was my present self, and not my mistakes.”

“Genji was my best friend...at one point. I can’t say I’m too pleased with what ya did to him. But that doesn’t mean you deserve to be hounded for it now that he’s still alive. Fuck the others. I know after what’s happened, I can easily say that.”

Hanzo’s eyes shut tight. Jesse winced.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to bring up this shit.”

“No, I agree with what you are saying. I’d like to move onto other important matters.” Hanzo’s eyes opened again, but this time they settled on Jesse’s shorts. His fingers worked deftly on the button and zipper, causing Jesse’s breath to hitch. Time seemed to stand still with Hanzo gripping his now swollen cock, the mane of pubic hair that surrounded it framing the entire package nicely. Jesse’s body became numb as Hanzo’s coarse thumb passed itself over the foreskin, pulling it down more to brush against his frenulum. A choking sound emitted from Jesse as Hanzo began to stroke him.

“Hanzo?” His voice sounded small.

“Yes, Jesse?” One pump, two pumps.

“Your uh -- your hand s’on my dick.”

“So it seems,” he hummed in response, picking up the pace. Jesse’s eyes bugged out of his head, his stare fixated on the ceiling of the room. All those moments he had masturbated to the thought of this didn’t compare to the actual thing. Then again, he hadn’t even thought it would get this far. He slapped a hand over his eyes as Hanzo began to suck his cock, the wet, warm cave of his mouth almost too much to bear.

“Fuckin’ hell, didn’t think...you felt this way.” Hanzo’s mouth left his dick and a chuckle accompanied it.

“Genji is not the only Shimada who knows how to get what they want with stuff like this.” Jesse cocked his head forward, feeling his chin become a double as Hanzo locked eyes with him. The stare was predatory, but it quickly turned soft. “Besides, I’m rather fond of you already. I figured you needed to relax after everything you have been through.” He resumed his blowjob quick enough, causing Jesse to let lose a gasp of air before any words could make their way from his throat. 

“Hell yeah I do. If I had to sit through Angela’s rants about my health one more time, I would’ve fuckin’ lost my mind.” Hanzo’s tongue lapped up the expanse of the underside of the shaft, causing Jesse to shudder in satisfaction. There was nothing about Hanzo that even remotely indicated he was good at blowing someone, yet here Jesse was, veritably trapped by his own legs at the tail end of probably the best suck he has had in his life. Every dip and pull pulled Jesse closer to the mountainous cliff of his orgasm, but after a minute Hanzo put the brakes on his mouth servicing him, getting off the bed instead to fully undress. Jesse raised a brow -- it wasn’t like he was against the sight of Hanzo’s perfectly sculpted glutes -- but the notion itself was confusing. In this state, there was no way he could give back the pleasure Hanzo had given him. Not with his legs acting as makeshift logs.

“What are you--” Just like before, Hanzo made his lose his words. The archer carefully balanced himself on the naked, hairy plane of Jesse’s chest, his ass rubbing against the engorged cock begging to fill a hole. Jesse’s breath was caught in his throat as Hanzo reached up to untie the golden ribbon that ensnared his hair, letting the inky sheet fall directly to the top of his shoulders. What did Jesse do to be able to turn his fantasy into reality?

“Relax.” The command was abrupt; even in something so intimate, Hanzo proved he was still able to lead. One of his hands reached behind him, subtly ghosting over Jesse’s cock before spreading his own cheeks to stretch himself for the moments to come. Speechless, Jesse’s mouth hung slightly ajar as he drank in the display of Hanzo _preparing himself_ right on top of him. The master assassin, a deadly killer, reduced to breathy pants and idle moans of Jesse’s name while bouncing on his fingers. Jesse finally snapped his jaw shut when Hanzo’s shoulders rolled back, pushing his own erection at full mast. It wasn’t as thick as his own, but Jesse had to commend Hanzo on how gorgeously sleek the shaft was, and how dusty rose the head appeared. It looked like something he wanted later, a meal for himself to indulge at a better time.

Hanzo place a hand right between Jesse’s pectorals to steady himself as he lowered his body onto the cock at hand, visibly gritting his teeth as Jesse’s erection became enveloped in his tight, clenching hole. There was a moment of peace, where the only sounds were both Hanzo and Jesse breathing in tandem with one another. The sun escaped its prison of clouds to shine through the window, illuminating Hanzo’s body as the man took his first plunging thrusts up and down. Enthralled, Jesse didn’t say a word, only lifting his hands to tightly clamp down on his gift of the day.

“Jesse…” The mumbling of his name finally made Jesse snap out of his trance, his eyes zeroing in on Hanzo’s movements, the bouncing lenitive and calming enough to make Jesse’s heart swell in response.

“Sugar, damn…” He pulled Hanzo down to close the distance between them, their intimate dance melding them together in a hot expression of what they had been feeling for months. Jesse’s eyes closed as he kissed Hanzo gently, the feathery light thrusts doing their job more than Jesse cared to admit. Antecedent encounters of this nature were always harsh, disjointed, and unforgiving. Jesse’s mind lingered to the trysts he had with his old commander, the dichotomy of his and Hanzo’s meeting now not entirely lost on him. This was passionate, warm. All Jesse had known before was tepid bitterness of activities like these before.

Jesse bucked his hips upward, meeting one of Hanzo’s thrusts down to completely bury his cock into Hanzo’s ass. The archer grunted right into his mouth, pulling back to pick up the pace. They matched this several times, with each meeting pulling a shooting response of pain from Jesse’s lumbar to his brain, but he cared little. Not when Hanzo was drooling right into his neck, groaning out obscenities on how good Jesse’s thick cock felt inside of him. Not when Jesse felt the shaking of Hanzo’s body preluding to his incoming orgasm, where hot ropes of cum settled onto his belly, dipping into his hairy belly button. Jesse soon released, feeling Hanzo’s inner walls grip and milk every spurt of cum that came from him, which was enough for Jesse to rasp loudly, his breathing turning laborious. Between them they settled into a quiet sort of content, the sun that had filtered in now settling back behind the clouds that had shielded it before.

It took ten minutes for either of them to speak, with Hanzo getting up off of Jesse, the latter’s softening cock easily sliding out. Jesse’s eyes trailed on the seeping fluids from Hanzo’s ass and rapidly glanced away in indecency.

“What prompted that?” The icebreaker wasn’t subtle and Hanzo noticed, pausing while he placed his undergarments back on.

“I was attracted to you and didn’t know you felt the same until…”

Jesse used his elbows to prop himself up, garnering a peek at his crotch before raising a brow at Hanzo. “Until what?”

“When you kissed my hand before I left those weeks ago. You haven’t tried it since, but I then knew you had a shred of the same feeling I had.”

“So you jumped from ‘this guy really likes me’ to ‘I bet he’ll love it if I ride his dick?” They both procured a laugh at Jesse’s statement. Hanzo tied up his silky hair into a knot while Jesse continued with his low rumbling of a chuckle.

“You had no one. I was in your position. I figured you wouldn’t say no to company that you fought so desperately hard for to stay back in the med bay.” Hanzo resumed his sitting stance on the bed, which prompted Jesse to grab one of the archer’s hands. They stayed quiet for some time, which Jesse’ outlining the curvatures of Hanzo’s knuckles with his thumb.

“Well” -- Jesse sat up and placed his face right into Hanzo’s hair, inhaling the fresh scent that lingered there -- “you’re not wrong.” He nosed along the skull until he reached Hanzo’s temple, pressing his lips there. “You said you could handle yourself one night, and honestly, I didn’t know if I could handle you. I used to think all these thoughts about ya, how good you looked, and how unfair it was that you probably didn’t feel the same. I was feelin’ an all mighty thirst for you, and I was ashamed. ”

He could feel Hanzo smirk from the crease that pulsated in his upper forehead. “What is the verdict now?”

Jesse sighed peacefully. Even with his legs still forcing him to be mostly out of the line of action, even with the entire team having a tense, uneasy relationship with him, Jesse knew, deep down, that he could at least handle Hanzo. 

“I ain’t feelin’ that no more,” Jesse murmured, taking in a deep breath and letting it go. Hanzo followed suit, reminding Jesse that he was here, and everything was alright. “I can actually breathe easy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A dear fic for my friend Becca, Happy birthday!
> 
> Thank you to my lovely beta readers and everyone for their patience.


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